Dear Brother
by Eya Hino
Summary: I wrote you this letter, dear brother, because if you're reading it, then I am no longer part of this world.  NOT SLASH!
1. Dear Brother

_28 July 1806_

_Dear Brother,_

_If you are reading this then I know dear Hungry has come through on her part. You must thank her for me. It must have not been easy for her to complete this final favor for me. She herself must be still be having plenty of problems with that successor of Leopold she's been landed with, but I guess she still owes me for smashing that damn Turk in Vienna. _

_ But enough about the past, it won't do me any good where I am now, or if I'm even in a place and not just dust on the wind. If you are reading this letter, brother, then you must know by now what has happened. _

_ I can't say didn't see it coming. You were barely the Duchy of Prussia when that pope turned against me. Now I have no land to call my own, no government, and once Francis abdicates, I will cease to be. _

_ I wrote you this letter, dear brother, because if you're reading it, then I am no longer part of this world._

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you goodbye, but you are your own country now. You have obligation to you people. Protect them and the family from that crazy French bastard. But do not seek revenge because of my death. It has been in the slightest sense, a long time coming. These last past years I have been nothing but a shell of my former self, we both know this is true, even if you did just try to laugh it off and blabber to me how tall you have gotten (I don't care that your 5'7" and even now I don't care so stop talking about and save the rest of us the grief please.)._

_ I remember when you were born. Such an annoying like Teutonic knight you were, but even back then you were a warrior at heart—and short. Ha! How does it feel to be on the receiving end? You held the Lord's name high. I couldn't have been more proud to share my blood with you, and if Grandpa Germania was still among us, I'm sure he would be proud too. _

_ Out of the rest of us you and Austria are the only that can still care on Grandpa's name. Brandenburg is dead, and I will soon be joining him. Hesse, Holstein, and Saxony are fading quickly, but if they ban together they may be able to hold on. I hope they do. But you Prussia are still standing and you will be for far longer then I did. You will be great brother, greater then I and maybe even Grandpa if you try. _

_ I hope that doesn't go to your head. Lord knows the size of your ego with you always going on about how awesome you are. I will have to give Brandenburg a piece of my mind when I see him in the next life for not raising you to be a little more modest. Then I'll have to thank him for raising the best younger brother a country could have. _

_ I'll miss you Prussia. You and your big, obnoxious mouth. _

_I hope you will miss me too. _

_Holy Roman Empire_

_P.S. If you happen to see Italy, tell her I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep my promise. She will know what I'm talking about._

_

* * *

_Author's note!

Epic. Death. I have no clue why I'm doing this to myself. I a) never finish my stories and b) I so don't have time right now to be writing this, but the idea keeps growing in my head. So surprise! I'm actually going to try to stay with this one (keyword try because I said that with my last possible multi chapter and look how that turned out...I still have the second half of that chapter on my hard drive DX ).

Anyways if I do keep writing this, It is a story of a mix of historical facts (Wiki here I come) and things I just simply assume (both of which will be stated separately in Author's note as seen below). Most of it will be in Prussia's point of view, but enough of that. I don't want to spoil to much. And again IF I do continue this I probably be putting notes on my profile just so people can keep everything straight.

And now Wall of History Facts go!

The FACTS

1. The Holy Roman Empire ceased to exist on August 6, 1806 when Francis the II abdicated the throne after being defeated by Napoleon with the fourth Peace of Pressburg. Since 1555, though, the HRE had been nothing more then a hollow name when Pope Paul IV sided with France and Charles V gave up on the collective country. .org/wiki/Holy_Roman_Empire

2. The "_successor of Leopold" _That HRE was talking about in the first paragraph was Francis I, who put the country on a backward path with his closed view of the world. .org/wiki/History_of_Hungary_1700–1919#Austria-Hungary. And the "_damn Turk in Vienna" _is yes talking about Turkey and his Ottoman empire when he tried to conquer europe. Vienna, refers to the Battle of Vienna where HRE's army under the command of Polish King John III Sobieski and defeated the Ottoman empire in one of the largest calvary charge in history, giving Hungry back her land that had early been taken from her. .org/wiki/Holy_Roman_Empire

3. Prussia became the Duchy of Prussia in 1525. He was just 30 years old when HRE became a shell. .org/wiki/Duchy_of_Prussia

4. Hesse, Holstein, and Saxony are parts of present day Germany. It is not know if they are alive or not.

MY FACTS

1. Prussia was born as a Teutonic knight which rose up in 1190 and as such lay underneath HRE roof of influence. As stated he was raised by Brandenburg, his older brother, until his death in 1701 when Prussia then became his own country. In other words, HRE watched Prussia grow and become a country, even though he was only about 200 years older then the other boy. From what I've read Prussia was never really a part of the HRE but supported and considered it a part of HRE until it fell. Summing that up to simple words is Prussia and HRE were close hence the letter.

.org/wiki/Teutonic_Knights .org/wiki/Duchy_of_Prussia .org/wiki/Kingdom_of_Prussia

2. Out of the original seven Germanic brother that we know of (Hesse, Holstein, and Saxony, Brandenburg, HRE and Prussia, excluding Germany) Prussia and Austria were at the time period of this story were the only one still around as countries.


	2. Dear Brother: Let us have a drink

11 July 1807

"I'm going to kill him. I swear on the Lord's name, that damn man will die."

The only response Prussia got was a snort from the other side of the room, where Austria stood surveying the golden pins on the cuffs of his white shirt. Even in the dark, with Prussia sitting in his oak chair, dressed in his military uniform that felt like he hadn't taken off in days, spiked helmet on the table before him, Austria's aura of wealth and culture seemed to radiate off of the countries body. It made Prussia sick. All he wanted to do was strangle the older country, but instead he just reached for his mug of beer on the table.

"I-hic-am. Just you watch." Prussia stabbed a finger in the aristocrat's direction, hands already unsteady. "The awesome me is going to dance on his grave."

Finally Austria looked up, eyes unbelieving and flat. "You're drunk," he stated simply, and then went back to finding invisible specks of dust on his cuffs.

"I'm not-hic-drunk." The words slurred in his mouth, and he brought the mug back up to his lips, only to find it empty. Cursing, he flung it back down on the table, numb fingers fumbling around until he found a non-empty bottle. There were about ten scattered around.

"You probably can't even stand," the Austrian snapped, the first signs of annoyance showing through his seemingly detached façade. Prussia glared at him, feeling the burn of alcohol in the back of his throat, as some of it dribbled out the side of his mouth. Wiping it away with the back of his hand, he threw the rest of the bottle at the other man's head.

Austria dodged, tilting his head to the side, not even flinching as the glass and liquid shattered against the wall next to him. Even when drunk, the older country had to admit that Prussia had ridiculously good aim. If he had been sober, that would have hit him. Too bad Austria was thinking about the shame it was that the delicate paint on the wall was now ruined, that he didn't notice Prussia pushing his chair back.

"I can stand," Prussia slurred, using the table to push himself upward. The whole room seemed to go sideways in front of his eyes, and instead of going upward he felt himself tilting to the left. His whole body gave way, unable to support himself anymore, and the next thing he knew was the feeling of strong arms wrapping underneath his shoulder and holding him up.

"You are drunk!" Austria almost shouted, throwing the Prussian back down into his chair. "Are you an idiot? Sit down!"

Huffing, Austria stood up, straightening the ruffles at his neck and then fixing the younger country with a scalding glare. "In the name of the Lord. I don't know what to do with you," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Have you even been sober since Jena-Auerstedt? No wonder you lost."

Prussia snarled at him, red-rimmed eyes looking for another bottle. He finally found one only to have it ripped from his hands and slammed back down table, a furious Austrian leaning over him.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Prussia rolled his head back, staring out the window into the dark, star light night. Next to him, the older country hissed furiously, slim piano fingers finding Prussia's chin and jerking it around. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, you drunk, stupid waste of land."

With more strength than Austria thought the other man still possessed, Prussia reached up and grabbed the aristocrat's wrist, and jerked it away. "Don't touch me, you frog," he snapped, not meeting the other man's eyes.

Austria pulled his arm free, his face going red. "Last time I check," he mumbled, "You're one now, too."

Suddenly Prussia went very still. Then he was on his feet, hands finding Austria's neck and latching on. "Don't you ever," he hissed, red eyes reflecting in Austria's glasses, "call me that again."

Austria choked, hands trying to pry off the much larger ones blocking his air supply. Prussia only applied more pressure, and he saw as Austria's eyes dilated from the lack of oxygen getting to his brain. The other man's neck felt so slim underneath his fingers. It would be so easy to just snap it here and now.

"Gilbert." The name came out of Austria's mouth in a gasp. "I…can't…bre…"

Hearing his human name seemed to zap Prussia off whatever plant he had gone to at the moment. His fingers loosened, then dropped away altogether, letting the Austrian bend over in a fit of coughing and try to get air back in his lungs. Prussia stepped back very slowly, feeling the back of his knee hit the chair. Carefully, he lowered himself back down, grip finding the armrests and not letting go.

"You could have killed me," Austria finally managed, rubbing his neck, red finger marks standing out against his pale skin. "You were going to kill me."

"I'm sorry," Prussia's voice felt small in his throat, weak like he could barely form the words. "I'm sorry. Roderich…dear lord, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…"

And then without any warning, Prussia, the great Teutonic Knight, the Kingdom, the warrior, the country, broke down into uncontrolled sobs.

Austria stared, completely stunned as tears streamed down the other country's face. Slowly, he stood up, and Prussia just buried his face his hands, shoulders shaking. In the several hundred years Austria had known the white-haired country, not once, ever, had he seen the man cry. Not a tear, not a single tear had ever been witnessed. Not when Brandenburg died, not when Frederick II passed away, not even when Napoleon ordered him to get down on his knee and bow. The sheer thought that Prussia could cry was more of a shock then anything to the Austrian.

"Gilbert?"

"It's not fair." The words came out from between the man's hands muffled, tears dripping down his chin. "Damn the world, it's just not fair!"

He could have ask the man what wasn't fair, but all Austria could do was watch him sit there and cry. With just one hand, Austria could count the number of times he'd walked in on a weeping Hungry, but she had always stood up tall and wiped her tears away, demanding that she was alright. To tell the truth, Austria didn't know what to do when it came to people and open displays of emotion that wasn't anger.

Prussia couldn't have been crying because he almost killed him. Yes, countries could die, Austria reasoned, but they never really died. They would just die and them come back to life, un-harm and unhurt, even when they died with an arrow sticking out of their chest or a bullet in their head, they never really died. It was like going to sleep and then breaking the surface again after diving under water. Austria himself had had it happen a few times in his life, so he was at a complete loss.

"Gilbert." He tried again. No response. "Gilbert, snap out of it." Again, nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Austria brought his hand back and slapped Prussia hard against the cheek, making the other man's head snap sideways. "For the love of Mary, man," he shouted. "PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!"

Blood rushed to the surface of Prussia's skin, making the hand print stand out against his white complexion. Turning back, Prussia stared wide-eyed at the Austrian above him, the other man's hand still raised. Then Prussia jerked, hands flying to his eyes and wiping away the water from his face.

"I'm not crying," he snapped using the back of his shelve to wipe his nose. Austria's nose scrunched up in disgust. "I just got something in my eye."

"Looks like you were crying like a baby to me," Austria mumbled. Prussia shot him a glare.

"I said I got something in my eye," the country snapped, and then his face fell, looking away in shame. "Maybe I have had too much to drink."

For a fleeting second, Austria almost felt guilty for witnessing something that must have been so personal for his brother. But Austria's face revealed nothing, and he merely responded with another snort, turning his head away.

"You're lucky we countries can't die of alcohol poisoning." Violet eye stared out corner of Austria's eyes. "And I still don't understand why you insist on drinking yourself away. You're still a country, you know. Just because you're part of France's Continental System doesn't mean your life is over. And besides, I don't understand why you hate Napoleon so much, he's not that horrible of a man-"

Prussia's face snapped back around. "Are you on his side now?" he hissed, the deflated anger from earlier bubbling back up.

Austria frowned. "I am on no one's side," he stated, feeling annoyed. "What in the world has that man done to you to make you so bitter about this?"

The Prussian's whole face went dark. "Done to me?" he asked slowly, like it was dumbest question he'd ever heard. "You want to know what he's done to me?"

Austria watched as Prussia slipped his head down inside shirt, pulling out a cracked, yellow folded piece of paper. The edges where slightly torn and splotched with water marks and heavy creases. Fumbling, Prussia's unfolded and pushed in toward Austria's face, black curved writing taking up the whole page.

"This is what he's done to me!"

There was no mistaking the handwriting on the page. The curved c, bold h, it was all so familiar to Austria, because he had seen in a million times before on letters, scribbled notes, important documents. All he could to was stare, eyes skimming over the words until he reached the bottom, the signature standing out against the darkening paper.

Holy Roman Empire

"He-" Austria swallowed, eyes transfixed. "He…He wrote you a letter?"

Prussia jerked it back, even though the other man was making no move to grab it. "Hungry gave it to me," he said, almost to himself. "About a year ago…"

"But," Austria took a step back. "He never…he never….why would he send you a letter?"

"Because unlike you," Prussia mumbled raising his head. "I cared for him. I'm loyal to my family, instead of rolling over and being a good boy for Napoleon."

Austria's whole face fell down into a scowl. "You think it's easy for me?" he hissed. "Being taken over by France, being made a fool of to all of Europe!"

"That's all you care about!" Prussia yelled back rising to his feet. "You and your stupid self image! You never cared for Holy Rome! The only one you every cared about was yourself!"

"That isn't true!" Austria took a step closer until he and Prussia were toe to toe. "I cared for him! I cried for him! He-He was my…"

"He was your what?" Prussia hissed, leaning in until the two of their foreheads touched.

Austria seemed to deflate in front of his eyes. Shaking his head, he stood back and turned, heading for the door.

"Hey, I asked you a question!" Prussia demanded.

Austria reached the door, hand finding the doorknob and turning it. He paused for the shortest second and then looked back over his shoulder, the light from the window reflecting off his glasses.

"He was my brother too." And then he left, the door slamming behind him.

Author's note!

So here's chapter 2! Surprised that I'm updated aren't you! Any who, if you haven't guessed already this is filler chapter, setting the stage pretty much for the plot to build off of in the next chapter. Which, I'm sorry people that actually read this, isn't going to be for a while. I have schoolwork and other projects I have to work on.

And thanks to my dear Beta, if you are reading this, for turning the piece of crap rough draft into something that resembled a literal work. Even if we nearly strangled each other because my views on lose grammar in fictional prose. You're the best.

Also I want to start something that I see a lot of other good authors doing. So at the end of each chapter There with be a preview ***gasp!*** after the end of the facts section. I hope to make the entertaining as the story goes on.

Now for History facts!

The real facts:

The battle of Jena-Auerstadt took place on November 11 1806, just two months after the Holy Roman Empire ended, just after Prussia turned against France. Up to that point they were actually allies.

On July 9, 1807 Prussia was forced to sign the Treaty of Tilsit with France, which made Prussia loss half of its territory and become part of the French Continental System. At the same time they had to support the French troops residing in their kingdom on their dime.

When Austria talks about being the fool of all of the Europe he's talking about Treaty of Pressburg, which was signed after the Austria/Russian defeat at Ulm and Austerlitz. Like the Treaty of Tilsit Austria lost a lot of it's territory and was forced to be allies with France. Up to that point Austria and France had been in the middle of a viscous power throw down. Austria was unhappy allies with the French until the French Revolution before the signing of the treaty and the execution of their Archduchess turned Queen Maria Antonietta of France (better know as Maria Antoinette). Then they pretty much spent the that time up to the Treaty of Pressburg beating each other up.

The facts of great amazing me

Prussia was pretty shocked and pissed when the HRE died. It wasn't till after he received the letter, though, that he snapped and attacked France a.k.a. the Battle of Jena-Auerstadt. Which failed. And after the Treaty Prussia descending into a fit of depression, and yes Napoleon made him kneel to him when he did (and just on a side note, no this has no historical significance, but deepened Prussia's hatred for the man).

If you haven't guessed yet, Napoleon is going a bad guy in this. He's the one that Prussia's holds accountable for killing HRE. We'll address that more later.

And now Preview!

Dear Bother, The pain that hurts most…

_And all it took was a glance, one simple glance across a crowded Paris street, and everything changed. _


	3. Dear Brother:There's a city called Paris

_May 12, 1810_

During some part of history a dumb frog had started to call Paris the 'city of love'. It really didn't make much sense in Prussia's opinion. There was no love and romance in the over crowded streets of thousands of bustling people throw into the over populated city center. It was a loud, French speaking place. The only up side was it had plenty of dark alleys.

"Hold him down! Keep him back!"

Prussia growled, but one soldier was already forcing him to his knees, knife pressing hard into his back. He tired to raise his head, but it was only shoved back down, straight into the dirty, nasty cobble stone ground. All he could see was smeared black water as it seeped down through the bricks, staining the white of his hairs, but that wasn't what he wanted to see. He wanted to see blood sweeping down from every inch of that blond, French bastard's face that he had come down this alley for. Unfortunately, that said man was now surrounded by at least four French imperial guards.

The albino should have known it wasn't going to be as easy as it had looked. Follow the man through the crowned streets, watch him look at the trinkets in the windows, and smile at the baby in the fancy stroller pushed down the walkway by the even fancier woman. All the while Prussia held the double bladed knife close to his side, right inside the front of his coat, his hat pulled down over his eyes so no one would see the red tinge to them. How was he to ever know that while he was following his target that he was being followed himself.

All Prussia had to do was wait. Wait until the man cut down a narrow, dimly light alley to get from one street to the next and then it was all a piece of pie. He had seen the flash of corn silk yellow hair as his target turned the corner, followed him, yelled out his name, causing the man jump and turn suddenly, big blue eyes as wide as saucers. The Prussian had pulled the knife from its hiding spot, raised it high so the sun could glint off its clean, new blade and smiled triumphantly, looking at other man's face for the look of shock and terror Prussia knew would be there.

Instead, all he got was a dull look of pity and regret. And then Prussia was tackled from the behind.

The knife slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground, skidding across the wet stones and well out of his reach. Two more guards rushed past him, swords out protecting their precious charge while two more held him down.

He had been so close, Prussia thought. Just two more minutes and he would have had that knife buried in the middle of that blond bastard's chest. Prussia pushed enough so he could look up; take in the tailored boat, the handmade tan breeches, and long dark blue waist coat with golden stitching and buttons over a startling white button up shirt. He pushed his chin off the ground just enough so he could look up into those infuriating eyes that stared back at him with blank pools of ocean blue.

"France! You spineless coward!" Prussia yelled, his voice full of fury. "How dare you hide behind a soldier's sword like a scared little girl! Face me like a man, you bastard!"

"Ha!" It wasn't France who spoke, but the guard to his right. Prussia could tell form his uniform that he had to be a captain or higher. "'Like a man' you say, coming from filth that tried to kill a man in cold blood in the middle of the day without even a fight. You are the coward here sir!"

Prussia didn't even spare the man a glance, even though he understood every French word that came out of the man's mouth. It was a trait Countries figured out they had quickly, the power of tongues. Someone could speak in any language around the world and Prussia would understand it and even be able to reply back though he had never heard of the words before that moment. It came in handy when he was on enemy ground. Prussia stared directly at France, whose face had not changed once yet.

"Hello Gilbert," France said slowly, like he was having issue forming the words in his mouth. "It's been a while. I see the bottle has not been kind to you. It's a good thing we immortals don't die from alcoholism."

"Fuck you!" Prussia spat, but all he could hear was Austria's saying those exact words only months earlier. His cheeks had sunken in weeks ago, making his eyes hollow and even redder looking. His iridescent white skin tone was now paler then it ever had been, with his white hair disheveled almost all the way down to his shoulders. He was weak and sluggish, the fermented drink having poured into his under used muscles.

"You know." France said walking over to where the knife lay on the ground. "This wouldn't have killed me, or you, or any country for that matter." Leaning over, the blond wrapped his pale fingers around the blade's handle and pulled it up, examining the metal. "You would have ruined my coat though," he observed.

"Of course you would care about you coat," Prussia spat. One of the guards pushed his head down, making the muscles in his neck strain even more to keep his head up so he didn't get another mouth full of dirt water.

France tilted his head to the side, face unchanging. "Why are you here?" he asked slowly, holding the knife up and looking down at the other man. "What could you have possible have gained?"

Prussia didn't say anything back. Simply glared.

"Ah. I see," France's eyes dropped from the albino's face. "This is about Holy Rome."

"Don't you dare speak his name!" Prussia roared muscles straining as he tried to push himself up. "You don't have any right! You're a murderer, Francis Bonnefoy."

In the many years Prussia had known France, not once had he ever seen the man blush. Usually it was the other way around with his once friend, but now Francis's face was turning a dangerous shade of red. "I didn't…It wasn't," France stammered trying to find the right words before giving a tired sigh. "It was bound to happen, Gilbert."

"How dare you-" Prussia pushed harder the guards, cursing now. "My brother may have not been your ally, but he was once your friend! Even if our grandfathers didn't see eye to eye—"

"This has nothing to do with our grandfathers!" France's chest heaved, making Prussia's words die in his throat. "Holy Rome was an empty shell!" France snapped. "He kept throwing himself into war after war because he didn't have anything left. His house was crumbling around his ears. Napoleon was just putting himself out of his misery!"

Prussia jerked at the name of the French Emperor, sickening hate billing up in his blood. "Of course," he hissed. "Go suck up to that human that made you an Empire, you spineless coward. First you murder your monarchy, then you slaughter your people, and then you go and support that monster."

France's face suddenly went so white, Gilbert thought he had had a heart attack and died. "I did not murder Louis…or his family." Francis paused, then stated an order to his guards without even looking away from Prussia's face.

"Let him up." France said softly. "Let him stand."

There was a stunned silence around the group for a moment, before one of the guards, the captain probably, spoke up. "But sir!" He burst out. "This man attacked you. Tired to kill you. We have orders from Napoleon himself to make sure you come to no harm."

Francis rounded on the man with a violent hiss. "Would you obey him," he snapped. "Or me? Your country?"

The soldier blanched, color draining from his face. "No sir," he started. "But in the name of your safety-"

"I'm immortal!" France snapped again. "I am the great country of France, country of the Franks, and last time I checked _soldat_ you have a wife and a child sitting at home. So if you want to see them again, do as I say."

The man went as rigid a broad, Adams apple bobbing like a cork in the water. Practically shaking, he barked an order to his men. Then the hands that had been holding Prussia down retracted and, very slowly, the country pushed himself up and onto his feet. The whole front part of his French outfit was ruined, stained and wet. Compared to France, Gilbert imagined he looked like a river rat.

France was never a tall person. At five foot nine, Prussia towered over the five foot six and a half Francis. He didn't have a reason to fear him, but France still held Prussia's knife, his knuckles white against the hilt.

"Do you know what they did to me?" France asked in a low voice, so low Prussia could barely hear him although he was standing less then a foot away. "Do you know what happened to me after that day, when the rebels stormed in and pulled me out of the Tuileries Palace?"

Prussia blinked, not sure what the man was asking.

France must have seen the confusion on his face because his whole visage twisted. "Of course you don't," he snapped. "You think I just danced out there on Danton's arm(i)! We were being held prisoners in our own palace and then they just let that mob come in and massacre all of Switzerland's men(ii)! They ransacked everything while we had to watch and merely three days later they took us," France choked for a minute, covering his mouth before he continued. "They took us to that place, that prison(iii). They waited, slowly dragged our misery it out_. _ Tortured Maria by dancing outside our barred window with her dear friend's, Princess de Lamballe, head on a pike till the poor queen fainted(iv)! Then they dragged Louis away to his execution, tortured and twisted poor Charles mind and body while Maria had to watch. Tricked the poor boy in saying terrible things about his mother that _was not true_(v). Even then their blood lust wasn't satisfied! Then they had to go and take Maria away from me too, my sweet, beautiful Maria…"

Prussia was shocked when he saw tears beginning to spill from the corners of France's eyes, streaking down his face. He may have seen France pout, throw fits, and water up to get his way, but never had Prussia ever seen the proud country truly cry. Now, though, he seemed to be falling apart at the seams, spewing words like he couldn't stop himself anymore.

"They murdered her!" France spat tears coming faster. "They murdered my beautiful Maria and for what? Some false feeling of liberty? Some blood thirsty debt that needed to be paid! Yes, Maria was flashy, but she was like a little girl playing in a fantasy! She just wanted to be free! And then the dragged her away, accused her of things she didn't do after taking everything away from her. Her husband, her crown, making her little boy Charles sick and confused in the head before taking him away too, even after she had lost poor Joseph(vi)! They didn't even let her keep her baby girl with her. Her dear _Madame Royale(_vii)! Only then do they put her out of her misery!"

France was really beginning to fall apart. Prussia shot a look out of the corner of his eye to the guards standing nearby, but they look just as lost of words as he was.

"And then they came for me." Francis seemed to slump in on himself, unable to hold his shoulder up any more. "That horrible man, Robespierre(viii). He made them drag me to the darkest part of the Temple, tortured me, cut me, and fed me poisons. I know we cannot die, Prussia, but I will tell you that it doesn't mean we can't feel like we're dying. They thought if they could kill me then the country would be reborn a new. A true government for the people would just pop out of my dead rotting corpse and strut around, glowing like a angle. They were stupid and naïve to what we really are, the embodiment of your countries very soul. So when Bonaparte came for me and pulled me out of the horrible hell hole," France look up through is bangs, straight into Prussia's eyes, blue orbs burning with something Gilbert couldn't describe. "I didn't even think twice."

Then, just like that, France's face crumbled again. "But look where that got me. More wars, more bloodshed, another Emperor I don't want to see die, another Monarchy. Gilbert, I love my people more than anything, but truthfully I don't even know what I _am_ any more. Am I Republic or _Empire_?"

Very slowly France raised his arm, making Prussia flinch back, thinking he was about to be stabbed. Instead, the other man just looked sad and held out the handle of the blade toward the country.

"Take it." France ordered. "Take it and stab me. So maybe I can relieve one person of their agony."

Prussia actually backed away a half step. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he had stepped into this alley but this was defiantly not it. This France scared him. Scared him more than anything Prussia had ever been terrified of in his life. He wanted to turn around and walk out, suddenly not wanting to see his once friend so…defeated.

France must seen the look his eyes, because he suddenly snarled and grabbed the man's wrist, forcing the blade into his open palm. "Take it!" he screamed, forcing Prussia's fingers to close. "Take it! Damn it! Take it!"

The other country watched in growing horror as France ripped his coat off throwing it to the ground where it landed with a muffled wet thump and started ripping at the buttons of his shirt. The thread tore easily under his hands, exposing a too white chest that looked like it hadn't seen a healthy amount of sun in a long while. Prussia could even see the man's ribs sticking out through the skin and he had to make his brain stop from counting every single one of them. With an equally thin hand, France slapped the place right above his heart and held his hand there, looking into Prussia's eyes with tears streaming down the sides of his face.

"Stab me." France hissed. "Stab me, damn it, right here, right in the heart! That's what you came here to do, isn't it?"

It was what Prussia had come here to do, but already he could feel himself shaking his head, slowly backing up, and letting the knife slip through his hands and clatter to the ground. "No," he whispered to the ground. Then, he picked up his eyes and looked France right in the face. "No."

"Pick up the knife, Gilbert!" France's tears were turning into sobs, his whole face pleading with the other man as his body began to shake uncontrollably. "Pick up the knife and stab me! Stab me! Stab me you filthy coward! Please God, Mary, Jesus, take the knife and run it through my chest! STAB ME DAMN YOU!

"No." Prussia's voice was barely a whisper.

"FUCK YOU!" France's body was beginning to bend over from the force of his sobs, hands flying to his mouth when he started to cough. "Stab me, stab me, stab me please." He whimpered, voice turning pleading. "Please just do it, please," and then so softly that years down the road Prussia would still not be certain if he had heard him right. "I have nothing left."

All Prussia could do was shake his head.

France snapped, the energy in his knees disappearing like air. He screamed and cried, ripping at his throat and bare chest as his guards rushed forward just as France slumped to the ground, the soldiers trying to hold the fragile man up. Very stiffly, Prussia turned, pausing just enough to bend down and pick up his abandoned knife off the ground and slip it into his pocket, before he silently started to walk out of the alley. Behind him, France wailed, the captain of the guards apparently trying to calm him back down and falling miserably. The last thing Prussia heard was France screaming for his Maria. He's beautiful, lovely, sweet, doomed Princess Maria Antoinette, asking where she was and begging her to come back.

And then Prussia stepped out of the dark shadows of the alley and into the bustling streets of a sunlight Paris.

* * *

The bustling throng of Paris rose up around Prussia with a thundering roar. People chatted in French; smiling, happy, as carriages rushed down the cobbled streets, hoarse hooves clicking against the stone. Venders sold fresh fruit and wares on the narrow sidewalks under glass store windows with dolls and fancy dresses as children in rags stood, hands outstretch for their next meal. It all seemed to blur together in Prussia's mind. One symphony of maddeningly functional chaos.

His legs felt like lead, carrying him through the crowded streets toward the edge of the Seine River, where his own carriage waited. On the outside, the City of Love looked like a crowning jewel, full of riches and glory, but Prussia could see now that even the most beautiful of cities had gashes underneath that ran deep, bleeding agony into the very soil. Prussia had come to this city looking for justice. Now he felt just as empty as that fateful day Hungry showed up on his doorstep.

Prussia dived into a busy street, dodging to avoid a speedy ox draw cart without really thinking about it. His head was in a different place. A place where things weren't so complicated, so messed up, and so wrong. There was a flash of brown and curly hair and Prussia's loyal stable boy, Varin, was at his side holding the carriage door open for him.

"How did everything go my Lord?" Varian said, Prussian accent coming out thick as he spoke.

Prussia gave a half attempted grunt in response, but the boy seemed to understand and lowered his head. Varin wasn't that old, twenty-eight at the most, tall and firm in body with broad muscles in his arms and chest. He had been in Prussia's command since before he could even walk; when the country had found him abandon in his stables, still wrapped up in his baby blanket. It was rare for a country to take a human in under his wing, but it had been done before. Sometimes having a non immortal face around was refreshing, though their life span passed far too quickly for Prussia's liking. Varin had always been different though. He could read his master's mood with just one look and know when to speak and when to be quite.

Stepping onto the bottom rung, Prussia grabbed the handle just inside the door and started to pull himself up. His head was just inside the door when he felt it.

It was like a sharp stab to the back of his neck. No enough to hurt but enough for Prussia to jump and jerk his head back. His whole body twisted, looking out over the teeming mass in the streets as Varin began to look a little concerned. The human was just about to ask what was wrong when Prussia saw her.

She was standing on the other side of the street, just on the edge of the curb dressed in nothing but simple white dress that hung off her pale shoulders. Her white hair was long and straight, hanging far down her back, blood red eyes locked with Prussia's own. Around her, the crowd moved as though she was nothing but smoke, a mirage that they could not see as they bustled on with their everyday lives. She looked exactly the same. Internal and beautiful, just like the last time Prussia had seen her.

_Mater Omnium_

Very slowly, as he watched the woman turn her head and look down the street. Prussia's eyes followed, but all he saw was a bustling throng of people in an overly packed roadway next to the river. When he looked back, though, she was already gone. Nothing but an empty spot where she had been standing.

"Sir?" Prussia looked down into Varin's worried blue eyes. "Is everything all right?"

The country didn't answer, his eyes snapping back up to scan the street again. _If she was here_, he thought desperately, _if she was here, showing herself now of all times, that could only mean one thing_.

Prussia racked through the crowd, frantically searching and becoming annoyed with all of the frilly dresses and coats that blocked his vision. _He has to be here, _Prussia screamed in his head. _He has to be._

That was when Prussia finally saw him. He was standing on the corner, looking like he hadn't aged a day. His hair was longer, though, reaching all the way to shoulders now, filthy with mud and grim. His clothes were torn, nothing but ribbons covering his thin, boney figure as he held a hand outstretched to the passerby, cracked lips moving on a mud streaked face as he begged for a coin. He looked like just another orphan, lost to die on the streets, but he must have felt Prussia's eyes making holes in the side of his skull, because he suddenly turned, looking at Prussia with the biggest blue eyes. Eyes that the man had only seen once on the exact same face.

Prussia felt his stomach drop. All it took was a glance, one simple glance across a crowded Paris street, and then everything changed_._

* * *

*RISES FROM GRAVE* Yes people I live and better yet I survived college! Though I must apologize for such a late update. It's been a very roller coaster last couple of months. My laptops hard drive went bad, and of course I can't find the CD where I had everything back up . Then I got scammed trying to get it fix, and that was a fiasco let me tell you, and finally got my baby back with a new and better hard drive in it a few weeks ago.

So I've never been happier to say IT'S FREAKING SUMMER! I CAN FINALLY WRITE NOW! Being cut off for so long nearly killed me. But unfortunately that doesn't mean you should be looking for chapters to pop out every week, still got other projects I have to work on, though it won't be as long of a wait as this one was :D

Anyways...lots of history notes this time around. And all in one paragraph from France…Opps. I apologize to anyone that doesn't like my take on history, but wiki was not my only resource here. I did my senior research paper on the Reign of Terror and let me tell that was some messed up shit. If any of you are interesting in Robespierre and the Reign of Terror, read _Fatal Purity _by Ruth Scurr. It's a very good nonfiction read.

Anyways on to

THE FACTS

i Danton was a revolutionary, one of the main masterminds behind France's Reign of Terror, believed to have been involved in the Paris mob's siege on the Tuileries Palace. He's involvement would explain why he jumped to power so fast afterwards. .org/wiki/Georges_Danton

ii 600 Swiss guards who were there to protect the king were massacred by the mob as they tired to avoid violence. 200 were captured and later murdered as well.

iii The prison France speaks of his the Temple, a prison in Paris where the royal family was held before the were executed or in Charles's exception died of neglect.

iv France is referring to Princess Marie Louise of Savoy, who was the best friend of Maria Antoinette. They were so close it was a rumor among the gossipers that they were lovers. This is not true, but she did stay with Maria during her imprisonment in Tuileries Palace and cared for her children before the were separated after the siege of the palace. Later, when Lamballe was placed in front of tribunal that ordered her to swear against the king and queen she refused, and was then hastily dragged and thrown to a mob of men outside that killed her in second and mutilated her body. Her head was then cut off and put on a pike, which was then danced under Maria's window at the Temple. Whether she saw the head or not Maria fainted upon learning the news of her friend's death. .org/wiki/Princess_Marie_Louise_of_Savoy

v Louis Charles was Maria's third son he was separated from his mother early on after his father had been executed and but under the charge of a harsh and terrible man Antoine Simon. It was said from a early age Charles was scared easily and the revolution had down little to help that. So it became easy for Jacques René Hébert, who wanted to destroy Maria's name, to twist Charles into saying his mother sexually abused him. This is completely untrue. If there was one thing Maria loved more in the world it was her children. When Charles was allowed outside Maria would stand for hours staring out of a crack in her wall in hopes of seeing a glimpse of her son. When the accusation came up in court in was the only time Maria showed anger when she denied the claim. Charles was said to be ten around this age. He died of neglect soon after his mother was executed. /2010/05/04/marie-antoinette-and-her-children-the-mystery-and-the-history-of-louis-charles-in-the-tower-part-2/

vi Louis Joseph was Maria's first son, second child. He was a very ill ridden child and died at age seven before the revolution started. He's grave was destroyed in the revolution. Maria's fourth child also died at a young again. Before she even turned one. .org/wiki/Louis_Joseph,_Dauphin_of_France

vii Madame Royale a.k.a Marie Thérèse Charlotte was Maria's first child and only daughter. She would be the only one of the Royal family that would survive the terror after her parents were killed and her brother gone. .org/wiki/Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte

viii Robespierre was a revolutionist and considered the mastermind behind the reign of terror. If you every look at his wiki page you'll would find yourself asking how a meek and small looking man could cause such grief. The worst part about it though, is everything he did he thought he was doing for the love of his country. A.k.a he thought he was doing the right thing and simply let the power go to his head. .org/wiki/Maximilien_Robespierre

MY FACTS

1. France and the Maria Antoinette were very good friends nothing more. Yes France loved her, but more of in the little sister and best friend sense. He connected with her feelings of wanting to be free from all the glitter and scrutiny of the royal world. He believed she was the one true person he could connect with in the real world. Compare it to Prussia's love for Frederick the Great. Hence why France is so messed up when she's executed.

2. The Revolutionaries of France (Danton and Robespierre and other) knew who and what France really was from King Louis XVI (Maria's husband and king of France at the time), that's why they locked him up with the royal family and kept it all hush hush. After Antoinette death though, Robespierre come up with the idea of a "new country", thinking if they could kill the old France, a new France would be born. Obviously that didn't work and after Robespierre and his followers were executed in 1792 France was left in the Temple until Napoleon came into power in 1804 and discovered the existence of the poor country. Since then he's kept Francis under lock and key fearful that others might come up with the same idea Robespierre did and succeed this time, making him lose the crown.

3. Finally you're all probably wondering who the heck the woman is at the end of the chapter. Don't worry that will be covered in a later chapter, but for now the more important question isn't _who_ is she, but _what_ is she. ;)

And now for our next chapter:

_If you come with me, you can have the world at you feet._


	4. Dear Brother:  I can give you the world

_May 12, 1810_

Prussia was lunging through the streets before he even knew what he was doing. Shoving people out of his way, his hands grabbed lace, leather, and bare skin as he frantically tried to make a path through the crowded throng. French words he understood but didn't care to pay attention to where thrown at him left and right, woman exclaiming at his rudeness and men giving him dark glares. Behind him, Varin was yelling after him, trying to follow, but he was over powered by the late day rush and shoved back to the carriage.

_He was there!_ Prussia thought frantically, finally making it to the opposite sidewalk. _He was there! He had to be there._ This couldn't be another hallucination, it just couldn't be. God may be cruel to his children, but he was also known for great mercy.

People were beginning to look at him. The red eyed albino standing in the middle of their path straining his neck over the bustling crowd must have been a sight to see, but Prussia forged his way forward until he was standing where the street that ran the length of the river teed with a street leading in the heart of the city. The gutters were overflowing this filth, a putrid smell wafting up from over flowing sewers and hitting Prussia's nose, but he ignored it; not even bothering to bring his hand up to his face to block out the stink.

There was no boy on the corner anymore. Prussia felt his stomach plummet in agony.

A small, stout man was leaning against the wall of the building, hat pulled down over his eyes. Prussia pounced on him, grabbing his shirt and yanking him to attention until their eyes met. The unfortunate man's eyes rolled before landing on white haired country, obviously not completely sober but enough to look angry at Prussia's intrusion on his nap time.

"_Avez-vous vu un garçon?"_ Prussia spat out in desperate French, asking the man if he had seen a boy.

The man looked at him with obvious distaste "_Garçon? Qu'est-ce garçon_?" 'Boy? What boy?'

"The beggar boy that was standing right here on this corner!" Prussia snapped back in French feeling the annoyance taking over the better part of his judgment. "He was standing right here!"

The man shook his head. "I saw no boy."

Prussia pulled his knife without thinking and put the tip to the hollow of the man's throat. The way he was standing, even if anyone was paying attention, it would just look like he was having a heated argument with the unfortunate soul. The said soul felt the prick of knife's sharp unused edge and froze, eyes going wide with fear.

Prussia said one more time, voice low and menacing. "The boy? Where?"

The man gulped, tilting his head down the street that lead away from river. Prussia dropped the guy on his ass and took off running, slipping his knife back into its hidden sheath. The streets were being to clear, shops closing down for the day as the sun began to dip father over the horizon. Red eyes searched everywhere for the tell tale sign of the dirty, blond hair and matted clothes, but his quarry was nowhere in sight.

That was when he saw the faintest whips of a silver white dress disappear down an alley.

Prussia took off at a run, turning in the corner of the alley and nearly slipping on the wet stones. He caught himself on the far wall, bricks slick under his hands, and tried to catch his breath. France had been right about one thing. The albino hadn't been sober in a month, and it showed in his labored breath.

Before him, a narrow passageway curved down in a winding twist into Paris's back streets. Prussia walked forward, avoiding the rats that ran underneath his feet and looking into every shadow that flickered at the edge of his vision. Above him he heard scuffling and looked up just in time to see three small heads disappear over the top of the roof. Not a single one of them blond.

Prussia crept forward, eyes wary of every shadow that moved. These were not the alleys of Paris that Prussia wanted to find himself in with the sun beginning to set. They were the maze that made up the dark corners of the countries capital city. Where things happened not made for public eyes. Every now and then he'd pass a door, leading into some tavern, some brothel, some off the beaten path shop. All the while hearing the rustle of someone behind him, only to turn and find himself alone.

Up ahead a dead end broke off from the man path. Prussia paused, peering into the gloom and seeing only a firewood shed, empty of wood since it was summer. It slumped against the far wall, with a red door leading down into somewhere on the adjacent way, completely out of sight and out of the way. Reaching into his coat, Prussia put his hand over the handle of his knife and took a cautious step toward the shelter.

The closer Prussia got the more obvious it became that the shed had not been used for firewood for some time. Instead, he found a bundled layer of filth rags and blankets huddled in the far corner under the roof. Strewn about were trinkets of every shape and size. A silver pocket watch tarnished with grime, a fake pearl necklace that had been broken in two, what looked like a few dozen empty coin purses, all huddled in a pile. And then there were some less practical things. Beer bottles, that from one look told Prussia then were imported from his week older brother Saxony; Germanic wears that must have been hard to come by, but that all seemed irrelevant when Prussia saw what had been drawn on the wall.

It had been done with a piece of charcoal, every detail drawn in prefect replication of the original. The two heads with circular halos faced away from each other, beaks open with curved tongues slipping out, sprouting off from the same body of black feathers. The tail came down, long and puffed out with talons on each foot outstretched, like they were meant to enforce god's wrath or scare it into their victims.

Prussia reached out, fingers gently pressing against the cool stone of the wall. When he pulled away, the tips of his white skin was stained black. All he could do was stare, a flood of memories assaulting his brain; blood stained battle fields, soaring arches of long beautiful estates, and seals in wax on letters and documents all made with the same sliver ring.

The same ring Prussia was wearing on his finger.

A stone skidded across the cobble, alerting Prussia that he wasn't alone. He whirled, hand on his knife, only to find the alley empty of anyone but himself.

"_Sortir_!" Prussia yelled in French, telling who ever was hiding to come out, and then, adding almost as an afterthought. "_Je ne vais pas vous blesser." _'I will not hurt you."

The shadows against the alley walls shifted, a single small figure rising up from behind the empty, rotting barrels that had been hiding him. Very slowly, he moved forward, inch by inch, until the sun, that was just about to sink behind the alley's protective walls, finally banished the black veil that had been hiding the figure's face. It was like time seemed to have suddenly come to a grinding halt. Everything around Prussia fell away. The city, the walls, the stink, the people, they were noting but the background now. The proud country even forgot how to breathe.

_Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven…_

The Lord's Prayer seemed to snap Prussia back to his senses, his Tunic knight training taking over. He shook himself, taking in a huge breath and staring at the ghost that was standing before him. It was almost like he hadn't aged a day, which was not unusual; it took a very long time for countries to age, but it felt like time had warped around the boy's body and held itself there, preserving it from the rest of the world. If it hadn't been grime that smeared the boy's face, and the hair that was too long, it would have been a prefect picture. Just like the last time Prussia had seen him, seated behind his big desk with that every condescending 'what have you done now look'.

This boy, though, wasn't looking at Prussia. His eyes were trained on the county's hand, which was still hidden inside the front of his coat, his fingers gripping the hilt of his blade.

Prussia pulled his hand out, both palms up to show he was unarmed. The boy, though, still looked cautious, and when Prussia tried to take a step toward him, he answered with a step back. It was a knife to the heart. Surely, Prussia reasoned, he remembered him. He had to. They were brothers after all.

"Holy Rome." Prussia was surprised at the tears in his voice, even though his eyes were dry. "It's me. It's Prussia….it's Gilbert."

Another step back. Now the boy looked even more wary, and it took a few minutes for Prussia to understand why. But when it hit him, it was like being blindsided by a brick, or a few thousand. He had spoken in French. The only reason his tongue would have spoke in French was simple.

The boy in front of him was not his brother.

Prussia wanted to scream, to rage, to rip down every brick and every stone that made up this damnable city and watch it crumple under his wrath. It wasn't fair. Just some cruel and heartless joke fate was playing on him as pay back for all the blood he and his leaders had soaked their hands in. The more he looked at him the more differences Prussia saw. Holy Rome's eyes had never been that blue, or his hair that blond, but they were so close together, that at first glance it was like the dead had risen from their grave. But it wasn't true. It was a trick, just another trick to torture Prussia until he went mad.

"_Qui est Saint Rome?" _

The knife went even deeper into Prussia's heart. Lord help him, he even sounded like Holy Rome, except with a dirty, thick street's-of-Paris French accent. Why did the boy have to look at him like that, with those big seeking blue eyes. Prussia slammed his lids, shut hoping the image would just go away.

"_Qui est Saint Rome?" _The boy didn't go away. He stayed, along with every stabbing memory Prussia was trying not to think about. Opening his eyes, Prussia still found him just standing there, not too close and defiantly not far away enough, looking at him like he expected something to happen. What that was, Prussia didn't know. The country just wanted to be far from this place. Far from these crowded but empty streets of love, where agony was just as plentiful as the capital's favorite nickname. But most importantly he wanted to be as far away as possible from the ghost that was still staring at him.

"_Qui est Saint Rome?" _The boy seemed to be getting impatient with being ignored, his brows drawing together in the same expression Prussia had seen so many times before. It made his heart squeeze.

"He was…" Prussia started almost choking when he felt the French word tumble out of his mouth. "My brother."

An even deeper scowl this time. "Is he dead?"

Prussia nearly bulked at the question. It was so rude and blunt he had to hold himself back from just charging the impersonator and throttling the child himself. Now it was his turn to glare.

"Yes." He answered with the obvious threat underneath. "He is dead."

A flicker of emotion that Prussia couldn't place seemed to flash across the boy's face. Then it was gone and the same blank, flat look returned. "I am sorry," he said gently and Prussia softened a little at the words. The boy sounded sincere, and the country felt his fury ebb back.

"Did he look like me?" The boy asked, staring at Prussia with those big blue eyes. Prussia blinked a little taken back by the question. Behind him, he could feel the drawing on the wall like it was burning into his back. Something didn't make sense all of a sudden. Raising his eyes he gave the boy a good look over. He looked young, fourteen years old at the country's best guess. Holy Rome had died four years ago and Napoleon had made sure that any symbol of its power had been replaced with his own. Then how would this boy, who had probably never left the city streets his whole life, have ever seen that crest anywhere? And how would he know how to draw it in such perfect detail?

"Yes. You very much do." Prussia answered after a long pause. But why was that? Something was nagging at the back of Prussia's brain, like he was missing a very important fact here. Then remembered on street, the white dress, the searing eyes, _her._ Why would she lead him here? Unless…

Prussia focused all his attention on the boy in front of him. The blond child didn't seem to notice the shift in Prussia's gaze. He may not have been his brother, but that didn't mean Prussia hadn't been lead here for a reason.

"Did you draw that picture?" Prussia asked slowly not wanting to chase the boy away. He pointed over his shoulder to explain what he meant.

The street urchin blushed, like he had been caught lifting an apple from under the vendor's eye. He nodded slowly and then quickly looked away.

"I would see it in my dreams." The boy mumbled under his breath. He seemed deeply embarrassed to admit that fact. Prussia felt his stomach twist.

Now he understood. Now it all made prefect sense.

_"Ich sehe." _Prussia leaned forward making sure to say the words a clearly as he could. _"Es ist schön."_

Nothing happened at first. The boy opened his mouth to say thank you when it dawned on him what had just happened. His eyes became as wide as saucers and he took a step back suddenly afraid of the white haired man in front of him.

Prussia had spoken in German, and this boy, who'd probably never heard the foreign language before, had understood every single word.

The boy turned ready to bolt, but the once Teutonic knight was faster. Prussia lunged, hand wrapping around the boys upper arm, before he could run away. The streets had taught the boy well, though, the blond twisted at a hard rotating his elbow and the jerked, trying to pull free. Prussia on the other hand was wise to such tricks. He put his other hand right under the boy's shoulder just as he pulled free. The street urchin opened his mouth to scream but Prussia slapped his gloved hand over the boy's face to stop and sound from escaping.

"Stop!" He hissed in German, which only seemed to terrify the boy mort that he understood the separate language. "Stop! I'm not going to hurt you!"

There was no doubt about it. The boy Prussia held may not be his brother, but he was certainly a country. And a new one at that. He had the gift of tongues. That was the only way he would have understood Prussia's words, but who the heck was he? Prussia hadn't heard of any group of people lately dubbing themselves separate from the world. Better yet what was he doing in Paris of all places. He couldn't be one of France's microstates. The boy had such a glaring resemblance to the Germanic line there was no way he had been born in this city. Which made raised another question. Why didn't he know German to begin with, instead of French.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Prussia said, the Germanic words rolling off his tongue like silk. He let go of the boy without warning and stepped away. "I'm a friend."

Without the force holding him up, the boy fell to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees. He jerked away when Prussia tried to help him up, staring up wildly at the Prussian man.

"Why can I understand you?" But instead of French, German words came out. The boy gasped slapping his hand over his mouth, eyes going even wider if it was possible. Prussia got down on one knee, looking intently at the boy's face.

"What's your name?" Prussia asked softly in German.

Blue eyes looked up at him, painfully similar blue eyes. "Ludwig." The boy said. "Ludwig."

†

It took Prussia a while to calm the boy down, enough to ask him a few questions. Turns out Ludwig was the farthest from French as you could get. He had been born to farmers that lived on the boarder between France and what used to be the edge of Holy Rome's territory. His parents had been normal human's of course, that had fled the heart of the Germanic countries in hope of finding a better life. Sounded pretty standard for a country except for the part that came after words

Ludwig's father had been a gambler and lost their families farm in a bet. So Ludwig had been shipped to Paris on what little money his human family had left before there was no longer bread on the table to eat. He was to stay with some far away aunt and uncle until things got better, but upon his arrival three year ago he found that the adult's meant to take him in had been executed in the terror. With no money to get himself back home and no where else to go, the boy turned to the streets and let the city suck him up. He made his life begging and trash diving, pick pocketing if it became necessary. He only spoke French, because even though his family was of Germanic heritage, the language had been frowned upon in the region he's family had settled. There was no way he would have ever stumbled onto his power of tongues before

What didn't make sense though to Prussia was why Ludwig hadn't been pick up by a country before. Usually countries didn't stay with their human family for as long as Ludwig had and not been found an older country. The normal memo for a country was your born, found by some other country and tada, adopted and raised usually after some weird turn of fate landed him or her out as an orphan of some sort.

"But how can a mere person be a country?" Ludwig asked, the German coming out like it had always been his native tongue. It was coming easier to him now, now that Prussia had assured him that his brother of tongues didn't make him some sort of demon.

"We are not a 'how'." Prussia said echoing the same words Germania had spoken to him so long ago in the small dark church. "We simply are. We are born just like every other man and woman, but we are different. We are chosen. Chosen from the other human's that walk this earth, to be something more. We are chosen at birth, giving the power to understand every tongue of man. That's how we find each other."

Ludwig's eyes widened. "There's more?" He asked.

Prussia nodded his head. "Many more. As many countries and groups of people there are in this world."

"Then who am I?" The boy leaded forward whispering. "I'm not France am I?"

Prussia had to snort to hide his laughter. "No. You are not France. This country already has it's immortal."

"Immortal." Ludwig raised his hands and stared at them like he didn't recognize himself anymore. "Doesn't that mean I'll never die?"

"No." Prussia suddenly felt his throat tighten. "We can die, but just not in the normal way. We can age and grow up and live for hundred of years as long as we have a people that believe in use. The moment we lose that though, we wither away, and just cease to be."

Ludwig blinked slowly trying to understand. "Is that what happened," he started to ask. "Is that what happened to your bother?"

Why did this boy have to remind him so much of Holy Rome? It was torture looking into that face. Prussia nodded slowly turning away to stare at the drawing that was still on the wall behind him. The boy though had brought up a good point. Who in the world was he? Better yet, why hadn't France found him yet? Ludwig was a country, and that met that he was standing in the capital city of another country. Countries were drawn to one another. It was why Prussia had sensed the boy on the street. Surely France had felt a flicker of Ludwig's existence before this point. Why then had he not sought the boy out?

So many questions. It was beginning to make Prussia's head hurt. Not only was he confused, but Ludwig was now shooting off question at him so fast he had a hard time keeping up. The boy wanted to know everything. Why were there counties? Was he going to met other countries? Was he some sort of king that ruled over his people? Prussia finally had to put a hand over the blonds' mouth just so he could think for a second.

"I don't know why there are countries." He started. "Of course you're going to met other countries, and no you are not a king, you are the farthest thing from it. You do what your leader says okay?"

Ludwig said something but it came out muffled under Prussia's hand. The albino country sighed and unblocked the boy's mouth so he could understand what in the world he was saying.

"But who's my leader?" Ludwig asked looking confused.

Another good question. This was beginning to hurt Prussia's head. He needed to talk to Austria or Hungry or somebody, who might know something about this whole new country business. Austria was older then he was, he had been there when many of the other countries had been born, and like hell was he going to go to France for answers. Better yet the less France knew the better. Because if France knew then Napoleon knew, and it didn't take a genius to know that was bad

"I don't know." Prussia admitted. Somewhere deep down in the back of his mind Prussia knew he had to get this boy out of this city. Maybe it was because he looked so much like Holy Rome, maybe it was because he was obviously one of Germania's decedents, but something made Prussia want to protect his small boy with his very life. Something told him, he needed to protect this boy, and sitting in an alley in the middle of the capital city in the heart of enemy territory was not helping that wish at all.

"But," Prussia raised a finger just as Ludwig opened his mouth. "If you stay here the rest of your life, you may never find out."

That made the boy frown. Just when Prussia thought he was getting Ludwig to warm up to him a little, the kid slams shut like a calm that has sensed danger. Prussia sighed running a hand through his hair.

"Listen." He said slowly. "You can't stay here." He waved his hand around showing the brick and stone that surrounded them. "You don't belong here. There are people out there, countries and human's alike, that if they found you, they'd use you for their own personal gain."

Ludwig stuck his chin out. "I can take care of myself." He snapped just like a true street urchin. Prussia sighed again. He should have know that it wouldn't be that simple to convince the boy to turn his back on the world he knew. He had seen this city's beauty and its wrath. Paris had taken him in her fold, and made him a intricate part of her layout. No matter where his ancestors came from, this boy in front of him thought himself French to the very core. What cruel Irony.

France was off somewhere drowning in his sorrow, and Prussia still felt like the roman descendent was screwing with him. He was going to have to play his cards wisely here.

"Listen," Prussia said making sure his Germanic accent came out thick and heavy to remind Ludwig what language they were speaking. "You don't belong here."

"How do you know?" Was the only response Ludwig gave him.

"When you dream," Prussia said softly. "What do you dream of?"

The question seemed to catch Ludwig off guard. He blinked and then looked up at Prussia with those big blue eyes. "I dream I'm on a battle field." He started, getting a far away look on his face. "No I'm in a city. It lays in ruins underneath my feet, as I stand there holding a flag that I've never seen before. There is some one there with me, patting my shoulder like I've done a good job, so I take the flag and raise above my head and scream at the gray sky."

"It's a dream of battle, of victory." Prussia said leaning in close. "Is this the city that you see laying in ruins at your feet."

Ludwig shook his head. "No. It's somewhere else. Somewhere far away."

"Then that should be enough for you." Prussia stood looking down at the boy that was still sitting on the ground. "Someone once told me, you should always listen you your dreams. They tell you more then you know yourself. And your dreams tell you that you don't belong here. You belong in that far away city, claiming what is rightfully yours. You can't have that just by sitting here in an alley for the rest of your life."

"But," Ludwig brown knitted together in a frown. "But what if that isn't me. What if I'm just seeing what someone else is going to do? What if I'm not the country you think I am? What if I'm nothing more then an orphan left on the street to die."

Self doubt. It was like a warm that ate the core of the apple and made it unfit to eat. "If you believe that, then it will be true. Then again if you never try, how can you know if it is you holding that flag and not someone else?" Prussia got down on one knee again and leaned in close to the to the other boy's face. Ludwig, maybe just for a show of bravery, didn't move away.

"If you come with me, you can have the world at your feet." The words come off Prussia's tongue like honey. "Or you can stay here and live your existence as nothing but a speck of dust in the span of time. I will teach you how to be a country and you and I, we will make this world tremble with our power."

Ludwig looked at him; Prussia could see the temptation in his eyes. He, a simple boy that had been cased aside by the world, given the thought that he could rise to such a position of power was just to good of a dream to pass up. His Germanic blood was flowing strong. Prussia could see it in his eyes. The mere thought of battle, of glory, of victory made him drunk with longing. Give it time, and this boy would be force to feared.

"Well?" Prussia extended his hand under Ludwig's face trying to hid the smile and anxiety of being turned down off his face. "What will it be?"

For a very long time Ludwig stared at Prussia's gloved hand, the human and countryside of him warring over his face. He wanted to go with Prussia, that much was clear, but he was scared. Scared of what he was getting himself into, and scared of what he was going to leave behind in the process. The truth was though, Prussia was just as terrified as he was.

It may have been mere seconds or whole hours that passed, but slowly Ludwig raised his hand and then placed it into Prussia's grasp. Gloved fingers slammed down, squeezing tight, like he was making a pact. Like he was never going to let this small hand slip away from his own, no mater what tired to separate them.

Because one thing for Prussia was certain. This time he wasn't going stand there and watch another brother die.

* * *

Just realized five minutes ago this was never published, so excuse me for the lack of Author notes. I don't think I need anything and if you need me to explain some crazy head cannon shit just PM me.

I'll come back latter and probably fix this mess anyways. I'm so sorry to the people I made wait. I fail as an author.


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